My Strange Rescue — Lost on the Limits - A Christmas Story

*LOST ON THE LIMITS.

* *(A CHRISTMAS STORY.

)* "I wish you had taken my advice and stayed at the shanty, Harry."

The speaker was a stalwart young man, so closely wrapped in a blue blanket capote that only a portion of his face showed itself, and the one addressed was a boy of sixteen, similarly accoutred.

"I felt more than half-afraid of this storm overtaking us," the young man continued; "and now we're in a pretty fix.

I can't imagine how we'll ever reach the depot."

There was something so despondent in his tone that one might have expected his words to exercise a dispiriting effect upon his companion;

but, instead of that, Harry answered brightly,-- "Reach the depot!

Of course we will; and in good time for our Christmas dinner, too!

You mustn't worry on my account, Mr. Maynard.

If anything should happen, it would be all my own fault, you know.

You wouldn't be the least bit to blame."

Mr. Maynard shook his head negatively.

"It's very good of you to say so, Harry, but I can't help feeling responsible all the same.

Oh!"

he cried, with a gesture of irritated protest against the situation, "what a plague this snow is!

Surely we had enough of it already, and didn't need this storm."

John Maynard was the bush superintendent on one of the great timber limits of Booth and Bronson, the millionaire lumbermen of Canada.

The duty devolved upon him of driving about from one "shanty" (as the permanent camps of the log-cutters are called) to another, taking account of the work done, and giving directions as to the bunches of timber next to be attacked.

This was a very arduous occupation, entailing as it did long and lonely drives through forest roads, passable only in winter, across the broad bosoms of frozen lakes, and along the winding courses of ice-bound rivers.

For this purpose he had a pair of powerful horses and a low, strong sleigh, made altogether of wood, that had accommodation for just two persons and some baggage.

As a rule he made these journeys alone, but this winter he had been favoured with a companion in Harry Bronson, the eldest son of a member of the firm, who had asked permission to spend the winter at the "shanties."

His request had been readily granted, for he would have to take his father's place in the business in due time, and the more thoroughly he knew its details the better.

Consequently Mr. Bronson was very glad to let him go, while Harry rejoiced at getting away from the confinement of the office, and at the prospect of having some exciting experiences before he returned.

So far he had been having a very good time.

John Maynard was as pleasant a companion as he was a competent bush superintendent, and, while going the round of the shanties, there were many chances for shots at partridges or rabbits, and always the exciting possibility of encountering a bear.

Then at the shanties their welcome was always so warm, and the French-Canadian shantymen were so amusing with their exhaustless fund of song and dance and story, that Harry never knew what it was to feel dull for a moment.

Christmas week found him at the shanty on the Opeongo--the one that stood farthest away of all from the depot at which Maynard made his headquarters, and to which it was his intention to return in time to celebrate Christmas there.

The superintendent was particularly anxious to get back by that time, because, having completed a round of the shanties, he could leave them unvisited for a fortnight or so, and he proposed to spend Christmas week in Montreal, where he had many friends.

Harry on his part was hardly less anxious to get to the depot; for, although he did not intend going any further, he had been promised lots of fun there by the clerk in charge, and a first-class Christmas dinner into the bargain.

Accordingly, when certain infallible signs of a change for the worse in the weather, which had hitherto been almost perfect, made their appearance, and Maynard, willing to take any risk himself, but reluctant to expose Harry to danger, suggested that the boy should remain at the Opeongo shanty until the threatened storm passed, and then get back to the depot by one of the ordinary teams, Harry would not hear of it.

"No, no, Mr. Maynard," said he stoutly.

"If you can stand the storm, I can too.

I'm going with you."

Clearly enough the superintendent would have to either allow Harry to accompany him or stay at the shanty himself.

He could not accept the latter alternative, so he replied,-- "Very well then, my boy, we'll start; and if bad weather catches us, we'll have to do the best we can."

The distance between the Opeongo shanty and the depot, as the crow flies, was fifty miles; but the circuitous route that was necessary in order to avoid ranges of rocky hills and impassable gullies made it full half as long again, and, in view of the state of the road, Maynard calculated that two days might be required to make their destination.

Accordingly they set out in the morning of the second day before Christmas.

It hardly needed the practised eye of a wood-ranger to foretell a coming change in the weather.

The sun's bright face was hidden behind a dense veil of sullen clouds;

the air, that had been so crisp and clear, seemed dank and heavy like a dungeon's; and both man and beast moved about in a listless way, as if every movement was an effort.

More than once the superintendent's mind misgave him ere they had gone many miles.

He was naturally a cautious, far-seeing man, not disposed to run unnecessary risks, although utterly regardless of personal peril in any matter of duty.

Not that he felt any concern on his own account; but he would have felt much easier in his mind had Harry been persuaded to stay at the shanty.

Yet how could he reasonably expect that, when he himself was pushing on to the depot?

Harry's argument, that if the superintendent could stand the storm he could also, was not easy to answer, and it prevailed.

"If this confounded road was only in better shape, we might get there to-night," said Maynard impatiently that afternoon as the sleigh slowly toiled up a steep ascent, the horses sinking above their fetlocks in the fine dry snow at every step.

Had their way been as well broken as a city street they might indeed have accomplished this feat, but under the circumstances the best they could hope for was to reach the depot early on Christmas eve.

Harry, understanding that he was the chief object of the superintendent's concern, felt it incumbent upon him to take as hopeful a view of matters as possible, so he responded in his cheeriest tone,-- "Oh, we'll get there to-morrow afternoon right enough!

We're more than half way to Wolf Hollow now, aren't we?"

"Yes, a good bit more; but there's the snow beginning.

We must drive ahead as fast as we can.

It'll soon be dark."

The horses accordingly were urged to the utmost speed possible, and, by dint of some rather reckless driving, Wolf Hollow was safely reached in the face of a blinding snowstorm ere the darkness fell.

At this place there stood a shanty which had been abandoned some years before, all the timber being cut in the neighbourhood, and here Mr. Maynard proposed to spend the night.

The building was found to be in good condition--quite storm-proof, in fact--and it did not take long to gather an abundant supply of firewood wherewith to expel the cold, damp air that filled it.

The horses could not be left out, of course, exposed to the pitiless storm, so they were allotted the farthest corner of the long, low room.

The sleigh, too, was brought inside with all its contents.

A substantial supper was prepared and enjoyed, the horses were given a good feed of oats, and then both the travellers being thoroughly tired, they fitted up one of the bunks with the sleigh robes, and, so as to waste no heat, lay down side by side, and were soon sound asleep.

At daybreak the superintendent got up and hastened to see how matters looked outside.

The prospect was anything but cheering.

Snow had been falling heavily all night, and there seemed no sign of its ceasing.

All marks of the road were completely obliterated, and it would evidently test to the utmost his knowledge of woodcraft to keep in the right track.

Such was the condition of affairs that called forth the exclamation reported at the beginning of this story.

However, there was nothing to gain by delay, so hardly waiting to snatch a bite of food and to allow their horses to finish their portion of oats, they harnessed up and drove forth into the storm.

Even had the track been easily distinguishable, they could not have made rapid progress, for the snow came in big, blinding flakes that were very bewildering, and had already covered the ground to a depth of nearly a foot.

By the aid of familiar landmarks, Mr. Maynard was able for a time to direct their course accurately enough; but about mid-day they reached a wide lake which they had to cross, and here their real difficulties began.

The broad expanse of Loon Lake had presented a fine playground for the wind, and upon it the snow was heaped in vast drifts, far surpassing anything met with in the woods, where the trees afforded protection.

In these drifts the horses and sleigh soon stuck so fast that their extrication was evidently quite beyond the power of the passengers.

There seemed no alternative but to abandon them to their fate, and to continue the journey on snow-shoes, which, fortunately, were lashed to the back of the sleigh.

Mr. Maynard felt sorely reluctant to desert his faithful horses, but no time could be spared for unavailing regrets.

"There's no help for it, Harry," he said resolutely.

"We'll have to leave them where they are.

We cannot get them out, and we've enough to do to look after ourselves."

The poor creatures whinnied appealingly as their human companions moved off, and made frantic efforts to follow, but the remorseless snow-drift held them fast.

[Illustration: "THE POOR CREATURES WHINNIED APPEALINGLY."

] It was certainly a pity to leave two such fine animals to perish, but yet what could be done?

Striding along on the snow-shoes, in the use of which they were both expert, the superintendent and Harry made better progress than they had been doing in the sleigh, and now the chief anxiety was to hit the right spot on the other side of the lake, where the road continued through the woods.

On a clear day Mr. Maynard would have found little difficulty in doing this, but in the midst of a blinding snowstorm it was no easy task; yet their very lives depended upon its successful accomplishment.

When they reached the middle of the lake they were dismayed to discover that the heavily-falling snow shrouded not only the shore for which they were making, but the one which they had left.

They were absolutely without a mark to guide them.

Here was an unexpected peril.

Mr. Maynard halted and strove to peer through the ominous obscurity of white, but on every side it was the same.

"What are we to do now, Harry?"

he cried in a tone of deep concern.

"I can't make out our way at all."

By this time Harry's spirits, which had hitherto been keeping up bravely, were beginning to fall, for he was growing weary of the long struggle with the storm.

"I'm sure I don't know," he responded ruefully.

"I suppose there is nothing else to do but to push ahead and take our chances of hitting the shore somewhere."

"That's about all, Harry," was the superintendent's reply.

"Just rest a minute to get your breath, and then we'll make a dash for it."

For a little space they stood still and silent, the mind of each absorbed in anxious thought, and then Mr. Maynard called out,-- "Come along now, Harry.

Keep right in my tracks, and I'll see if I can't make the shore all right."

For half-an-hour they toiled steadily onward, and well it was for both that they had such skill in the use of snow-shoes.

Without them they could not have made a hundred yards' headway, so heavy was the snow.

Even as it was, the hard work told upon Harry, and presently he had to call to his companion,-- "Hold on a minute, Mr. Maynard; I'm out of breath."

The superintendent stopped short and came back to him.

"Not played out already, are you, Harry?"

he asked, peering anxiously into his face.

"Oh, no!"

and the boy made a gallant effort at a reassuring smile.

"I just want to get my wind; that's all.

This abominable storm nearly suffocates me."

As they rested again for a few minutes, the wind suddenly shifted, parting the whirling snow to right and left, and through the rift thus made, Mr. Maynard's keen eyes caught a glimpse of a dark mass rising dimly into the air a little more than a mile away.

With a shout of joy he slapped his companion upon the back, crying,-- "Eagle Rock, Harry.

See!"

and he pointed with a quivering finger to the spectral appearance.

"Once we make that, I can find the road all right enough.

Come along!"

Cheered by the sight, which the next moment the snow-curtain again hid from them, they pushed forward with renewed energy.

It was terribly hard walking.

Their snow-shoes sank deep into the drifts at every step, and it was an effort each time to release them.

The afternoon was also waning fast, and they had not more than an hour of daylight left at best.

Truly they were in desperate straits.

On they went over the drifts that seemed to be determined to bar their way, the superintendent straining his eyes for another glimpse of Eagle Rock.

At last, as Harry was about once more to cry halt, his companion exclaimed joyfully,-- "There's Eagle Rock, Harry!

I see it.

We're making straight for it.

A

few minutes more will take us there."

The cheering announcement revived the boy's failing energies for another effort.

He shut his lips upon the request for a rest, and doggedly tramped on after his guide.

Ten minutes more and they were at the foot of the lofty crag called Eagle Rock, in a friendly recess of which they found welcome shelter from the furious wind.

"Thank goodness!"

ejaculated Harry, throwing himself wearily down upon a snow-bank, "we've got thus far anyway.

How many miles more, Mr. Maynard?"

"About ten, Harry," was the answer, given in quite a matter-of-fact tone.

"Ten!"

echoed Harry in dismay.

"I hoped it would only be about five.

I'll never do it in the world."

"Oh yes, you will, my boy!"

replied Mr. Maynard.

"I'll help you you know."

To their vast relief the snow now began to abate, and presently ceased falling altogether.

"That's something to be thankful for," said the superintendent.

"Are you ready to start again?"

"Go ahead," was the response.

But no sooner had one danger passed than another presented itself.

The light began to fail, for night was at hand.

A ten-mile tramp on snow-shoes through a desolate forest was not much to be desired under any circumstances.

To accomplish it in the dark, tired as they both felt already, was a feat the achieving of which seemed more than doubtful.

Mr. Maynard had his misgivings, but he carefully concealed them from his companion, and even started whistling a lively march as he led the way along the faintly discernible road.

Never will either of them ever forget that awful tramp.

The night soon enfolded them, leaving only the scant light of the glimmering stars for guidance.

Every step they took had to be carefully considered, lest they should stray from the track and be hopelessly lost.

Again and again the silence through which they marched was broken by the blood-curdling cry of the lynx or the dismal howl of the wolf, seeking what they might devour.

The superintendent's rifle hung at his back, and Harry had a good revolver; but they prayed in their hearts that they might have no occasion to use them.

Every little while they had to pause that the boy might take a brief rest.

Then on they went again.

Mile after mile of the dreary, toilsome way was slowly yet steadily overcome, each one adding to poor Harry's weariness, until he felt as if he must give up the struggle and throw himself down in the snow to die.

But Mr. Maynard cheered him up and helped him, and kept him going, knowing well that to give up really meant death.

At last the exhausted boy sank down with a piteous wail,-- "It's no use, Mr. Maynard, I can't take another step."

"Oh yes, you can, Harry!"

said the superintendent soothingly; "just take a little rest, and then you'll be all right."

While Harry rested he went on ahead a short distance, for it seemed to him that they could not be very far from the depot.

Presently there came from him a glad hurrah, and running back he put his arm around his companion, and helped him to his feet, exclaiming joyfully,-- "I can see a light, Harry.

We're safe now.

It's the depot."

And he was right.

They were within half a mile of their haven.

Forgetting all their weariness, they put on a gallant spurt, and in less than ten minutes were in the midst of their friends, telling the story of their thrilling experience.

All's well that ends well.

The superintendent kept his appointments in the city; Harry had a royal Christmas time with the clerks in the depot;

and, happy to relate, the horses were not lost, for a relief party that went out the following morning with a big sledge found them still alive, and brought them and the sleigh back to the depot, little the worse for the long imprisonment in the snow-drift.